Contact Me!

Month: February 2015

Wake up
The grass is singing
The birds are pecking,
Scratching
Fighting over worms
Wake up
The green grass sings
The pine tree sways, waving hello,
Kicked around in the breeze
Wake up, you’ll feel better when you stand
Your bed is warm, but it is empty
Nothing there but dreams
Wake up
The grass is singing

Like this:

I felt like I was on fire.
I felt like I was on fire when I read your tumblr. How is that even a word? “Tumblr”…
But then I started to read it again, most of the way through, half, fuck.
Poems about being cunty and getting fucked.
Other poems too.
Blame and shit talking.
As if none of it had been your fault in the first place. You, such an innocent specimen of the perfect female form.
I’ll giggle at you, but I won’t laugh.

This reminds me how rude you were.
I remember things differently, though I don’t know “who fired first”.
I remember losing my ability to forgive when I realized that you were never going to learn from those mistakes.
I remember when I figured out you’d never be able to love anyone the way they could love you,
Because, though you should love yourself, you shouldn’t love yourself too much. There is a time when you have to realize that a strength has become a weakness.
I remember that that’s when I stopped being in love with you. I remember just loving you.
I remember figuring out what you said when we first started dating.
“I’ve had exes tell me I’m selfish.”
What they must have meant by that.
I remember thinking that the word isn’t “selfish” the word is “self-centered”.
I remember feeling my love being wasted, no matter how much I put in. I remember nothing ever being enough for you. I remember turning cold. I remember being an asshole – each and every time.

Yeah, Squid ate my glasses; yes, I cried, just like I said in my text message. But I didn’t cry because I thought of you and missed you. I cried because Squid had done me the greatest favor. The glasses were one of the last things we had together that she didn’t destroy, gnaw, or irreversibly put her own hell hound mark on to cover up the memories of you and Olive. Squid saved me from you in ways I’m still finding each and every day. I didn’t cry when i burned the “box of Grace’s abandoned shit” in the alley behind the house I was living at. That felt good… That felt damn good. Did you feel that tremble through the earth this summer? Did you feel a part of yourself hurt just a little? No, you’ve locked feelings so deep you don’t know where you put them, haven’t you…?

I’m sad to see that you still hold on to the negative stuff. I’m sorry you’re having a hard time with this too.
I’m sorry that you feel like you “made” me.
Because you didn’t.
You didn’t give birth to me, you didn’t raise me to be polite and to think for myself; more importantly about anyone else. Those are things you’re not capable of instilling on a child, remember? You admitted that to me on so many different occasions. Fuck you were rude.
But what you did was pull me out of a situation that could have gone somewhere and into a situation that you had no intention of letting go anywhere. Because you’re incapable of letting yourself be happy. Because you’re a poet. I’m glad that you did it though, I never would have learned from Mix, who I’m no longer friends with – defending your name, if I might add – and would never have met Poppy, who has become one of the best friends a person can ask for. She really helped clean up a lot of bad habits you left behind.

I’m glad you’re back in Florida, getting back to the life you should have had.
I’m glad I’m still in Oregon, as far away from you as I can be without leaving the country.

I don’t put blame on you, or me, or anyone else. I remember that you left, and I remember why.
I’m glad you left.
I don’t want you back, and I think you’re reading me wrong if you think I do.
Yes, I miss you – but I’m glad you’re not around.
And yeah, I still love you. But even that will fade in time, without seeing you face to face.
Sometime’s people need to know that someone still thinks about them from time to time.
That they’re missed, that in some small way they’re loved.
I’m sad that you don’t have a clue what love can mean.